True, the article only talked about twelve year old girls getting driven into Manhattan from Greenwich, Connecticut, to have make-up lessons on the Upper East Side – not 7 or 8 year olds. But twelve is young enough.  Young enough for what, you ask?  Young enough that it’s just plain awful.

I get that tween girls are growing up faster than they were when I was that age.  I mean, when I was that age, the word Tween didn’t even exist.  Now, it doesn’t even set off the spell-check. (Which also didn’t exist when I was that age, just so you know.)  But I also know that twelve year old girls are just as insecure as ever.  That they are figuring out who they are. And as their bodies change – who they will be.

Do we really want them to be so singularly focused on their looks?

What does it say to a twelve year old girl that having great hair and makeup for a Bat Mitzvah party is worth two hours in the car (one there, one back), hundreds of dollars in fees, and the physical pain of an eyebrow wax? What does it mean to a twelve year old girl when a staff of grown women fawn over and serve her for the sake of her looks?

It says that no matter the cost, the time, the classist nature of entitlement it all implies – looks are the most important thing.  Beauty above all else.  And worse, that even at twelve, their own natural beauty isn’t enough. They need professional make up artists and facialists.

I don’t blame the girls.  I don’t even blame the pop culture machine that presents them with impossibly beautiful and perfect role models who are all primped and primed ad nauseum.  I blame the parents.  I blame the mother in this NY Times story who thinks it’s so perfectly OK to treat a twelve-year-old like a 20 year-old that she put her picture, and her first and last name in The New York Times!  I blame the mother, who said that if her daughter was going to put on make up, she could at least learn how.

How about this?  Tell your twelve year old daughter she doesn’t need make up at all because she’s beautiful the way she is.

Because she is.  And because to be willing to imply otherwise by spending exorbitant time and money artificially altering that natural beauty.  Well, you might as well sign her up for a lifetime of feeling insecure.  A lifetime of body image issues.  And a whole world of misery.

When they were this age, no tech was no problem!

Family vacations are supposed to be all about togetherness.  So does that mean that no one can be on their phone or handheld game, or ipad, or computer the entire time?

Yikes. I mean, can you get the DTs from electronic withdrawal syndrome?

Kim Orlando gave that a shot on her recent family vacation to Aruba (the no tech – not the DTs)…and I commend her for it.  But the truth is, I’m not really willing to give up tech entirely while I’m on a trip – so I can’t really expect my kids to be. What we’ve done – without hard and fast rules, but with some success, is make the rule that tech is only for checking in with your email in the morning, and checking out a bit at the end of a long day. I do not check my phone all the time while we are away.  My kids do not carry around their various electronic accessories.  But for a plane ride, let’s face it, nothing beats a bit of DS or a movie on your iPad.

I think we’ve struck up a compromise. Works for us.  And maybe it will work for you — (and you have to read this next line in a game-show announcer voice) on your vacation to beautiful Aruba!!!! Yes Traveling Mom (where I am a contributor) is giving away a fabulous trip for a family of four to Aruba.  (including air fare!)

It’s easy to enter.  All you have to do is watch the video below about how Traveling Mom founder Kim Orlando dealt with electronics on vacation,  and her tech-deprived kids (and husband) on her trip to Aruba, and answer the question of the day. The details about the contest are all here.  Where you can learn about more ways/chances to win.

The Traveling Mom crew is also hosting a Twitter Party all about traveling with tech.  And I’m gonna be there.   January 23, 9-10 pm eastern. Wanna come?  If you’ve never been to a Twitter Party, it’s easy.  Just click here and find out how to RSVP. Still not sure? Well, just so you know, TMOM always give out awesome prizes!

But for now, check out Kim’s video.  Once you’ve watched that, you’re REALLY gonna want to win the trip!

Not so new hair for the New Year!

I started with my hair.  The other day I posted about my new super short ‘do.  I left that hairdresser looking TOTALLY different.  Of course, that was when she blow dried it.  This morning, I did it myself — and it doesn’t look all that different than it did before I got it cut. Sigh.

So I needed something else to shake things up.  And since Duane Reade is sponsoring this post (though not paying for the stuff  I buy when I’m at the store.) I figured – why not start there with a new make-up and hair regimen for the new year.  Because, let’s face it, nobody did a bigger makeover than Duane Reade itself.  They must know something about this stuff.

I headed to the DR on 79th and Broadway because it’s the closest one, and it was zero degrees outside.  This DR isn/t as glam as the 72nd Street one, but it has been completely redone, and still feels pretty brand spanking new.

First things first:  I need new product to go with my new hair, to keep it looking like new hair.  They have quite the selection.  From the usual drug store brands to the higher end stuff.  I go high end, spending $18 on Slept In, by Short Sexy Hair , which is, I gather, supposed to give me sexy hair.

Next, eyes.  I am a big fan on Bobbi Brown gel eye liner.  But its not really the sort of thing you can throw in your purse – You need a brush to apply it, you need another brush to smudge it.  So I need a good old fashioned eye pencil.  For $2.99 Wet n Wild self sharpening eye pencil works for me. Plus, a L’Oreal quad of eyeshadows in Desert Sunrise…basically the same colors I always get – muted earth tones – but mine are old and gross and this one is fresh and new.  (At this point, all my picture taking is freaking the store employees out.  So either they’re offering to help to keep an eye on me, or because they really, really care. Maybe a bit of both!)

On my way to get cream for my dark under eye circles, I notice they even have a Men’s high end selection. And this isn’t even Chelsea!  There’s WAY too much to choose from.  But at the new Duane Reade, that’s not a problem.  Shakira (who hasn’t seen me take any pics and so isn’t wary of me) offers advice on the active ingredients of several brands. She’s so good at what she does that instead of getting the mass market brand I would have chosen, I shell out $38 for a fancy French brand. (eating into my sponsorship fee again.  Sigh.)

Now that DR has fresh food, I can save myself a trip to West End Market (too cold to walk all the way to Fairway.)  All I need to complete my recipe for Salmon Loaf made from leftover roast salmon is some yogurt.  I get Chobani for a good price, and then notice Siggi’s Icelandic Style yogurt.  I have no idea what that means, but it’s pomegranate/passion fruit flavor – two of my all time favorite fruits – so I shell out – (are you ready?) $3.98 for a 5.3 oz container.  It had better be good.  And it is.  Not too sweet, super thick and creamy, and 0% fat! Bummer, now I’ll have to buy Siggi’s more often.

Some of the new things I notice aren’t quite as fabulous  – like these plastic heel protectors.  Basically, they’re the fashion equivalent of plastic on the furniture – but I digress.

This is going to be the year of no complaining from my dental hygienist, so I get Glide dental floss and the hard to find oral b little brushes.

Done.

New Hair. (ish). New products.  New Duane Reade.

hey, it’s a start.

This shop has been compensated as part of a social shopper insights study forCollectiveBias. #CBias The money spent and the opinions given are my own. #duanereade

You can see more photos from my trip – and check out the goods for yourself by clicking here.

If you grew up in New York, or if you’ve been here more than 20 years, or if you’ve seen any Scorcese movie made in the 1970′s, then you remember when Times Square was seedy.  You remember – maybe even with fondness -  the way there were creepy men hanging around the peep shows, how Robin Byrd was headlining at Show World.  You remember that certain combination of grime, sleaze and glitz that was Times Square.

Now, Times Square isn’t gritty, it’s glitzy and glamorous.  Now there are brand name stores, like the new American Eagle Outfitters, and Sephora, and the flagship Toys R Us complete with indoor ferris wheel.

It’s a bit disconcerting.

And that is kind of like Duane Reade.  For decades, Duane Reade, a NYC chain of pharmacy/snack/drug store/convenience stores, was famously – oh, how can I put this kindly – seedy.  Oh, we all shopped there.  Duane Reade had everything. Need Shampoo?  You’ve got it.  Need a mop? Check.  Need bandaids, aspirin, Leggs pantyhose in a plastic egg, pork rinds, Spam in a can? Duane Reade was the place to go.

But it was also famous for being maybe not the most service oriented place.  Maybe not the cleanest. Definitely not glam.

My how times have changed.

Fancy Schmancy Fragrance at DR on 72nd and Broadway

And while there’s a part of me that thinks it’s a bit sad – the Walgreens-i-fication of the chain has taken out the New Yorkiness of the place (Walgreen recently bought all 257 DR stores for $1.1 billion)  – it didn’t stop me from heading there to do a little bit of last minute stocking stuffer (well, you can’t stuff a Menorah) shopping at my newly glammed up DR.

The first thing you notice when you walk in, is the case of fresh donuts. Now, the old DR didn’t have fresh anything.  So this is a surprise. Next, is all the private label stuff: Delish is the brand. Then, you see that the linoleum floors are not blackened from years of neglect.  The place kind of sparkles. It’s sleek.

But I’m not here to gawk, I’m here to shop.  So upstairs I go.  The store is heavily staffed.  People actually smile and greet you, offer you help.  It’s like an alternate DR universe.  And the stuff they have!  I see a display of Demeter fragrances, Klorane products, a hip line of cosmetics called Pop.  I choose some sparkly nail polish and even more sparkly lip gloss for my teen niece. One down.

There’s a brow bar.  A sign announcing a doctor on site. I grab some needed tin foil and some plastic hangars.

For my own daughter, I peruse the fan mags. She loves J-14.  That’s going to be good for the plane ride for our vacation. I

throw it into my cart. I feel guilty that we’re leaving  the dog behind, and since he’s adopted, I figure he’s not Jewish, so I buy him a Santa Dog Toy. Gift cards are always good.  Two itunes cards for my two kids, and one for the college nephew.  Some sunscreen for the trip. Done.

On my way out, I buy some soft chocolate chip cookies to bring to pick up. There’s sushi – but frankly, that scares me.  There’s an artisinal beer bar (no, I’m not kidding), there is fresh looking fresh produce – nothing withered – I checked. They even have a Facebook Page and a Twitter account.

It’s kind of freaking me out. Where is the skeevy looking box of snacks?  Whence the surly clerk?

I’m cheered by the fact that even though they seem to have gotten everything right, I still find one thing wrong – we’re on the Upper West Side of Manattan – Jew territory – and yet there is not even one Hannukah anything. No decorations.  No plastic dreidels. Nothing.

It’s not grit or New York attitude – but it will have to do.

This shop has been compensated as part of a social shopper insights study forCollectiveBias. #CBias The money spent and the opinions given are my own. #duanereade

You can see more photos from my trip – and check out the glam for yourself by clicking here.

Even the Tweety bird ties one on once in a while.

In the 18th century, to break up the monotony of stoking fires and slaughtering oxen, American housewives tatted, going blind making lace, blissfully unaware that it was the pre-cursor to Hanky Panky thongs. In the 19th century, women had their salons, performing for each other, and leaving us a legacy of reality stars who are talentless, yet revered. In the middle of the 20th century, women stopped with all the activities, and started drinking. Heavily.  The only way out of the tedium of housewifery was the three martini lunch. Eventually, Martinis gave way to the less social Valium, then the more social Prozac, and finally the insanity of Soul Cycle.

Today, women no longer need mind altering substances to escape from the numbing tedium of every day life.  We have Twitter.

But are drugs and Twitter really all that different?  You decide:

Tweeting                                               Drinking Martinis

Me as Heddy La Rue in my High School Production of How to Succeed...

I grew up in a family where sports were virtually non-existent. My father never watched a single game. My brother never played on a team. My mother couldn’t have named a single professional athlete.  My sister and I were wholly uninterested (and unskilled) at organized sports.  We weren’t un-coordinated.  My brother was a ski instructor in Utah, my sister was an excellent at figure skating, and me – well,  give me a dance step, and I’d learn it in a heartbeat. I was the star in every school play,  the soloist in every choral performance.

But until I became a mother myself, I didn’t realize just how much better it is to be the mother of a drama geek than a soccer-playing, baseball bat swinging, basketball, football or lacrosse ball hurling kid. Why? Read on.

1. Drama Moms never have to stand outside in sub-zero weather watching their eight year old get crushed by the opposing team.  Yes, that’s right.  Rehearsals take place INdoors, thank you very much.  Ditto for performances.  Drama Moms watch their kids doing their after school activities from a cushioned seat in a heated theatre. Think of that next time you’re freezing your butt off at a 3rd grade soccer game.

2.  There is no such thing as a 7:30am Saturday morning rehearsal.  Why is it that kids have to play sports at such an un-Godly hour? Drama Geeks (and their parents) operate on theatre time – in preparation, no doubt, for their inevitable future on the Broadway stage. (Ha!)  That means nothing starts before 10am. Ever.

3. Performances are Short Lived. If your child plays on a school team, there are – oh, I don’t know – about 492 games a season.  And they’re during the day.  If you go to the all of the games, you’ll be fired from your job.  And if you don’t, you’ll be plagued with guilt forever. No matter how bad your kids’ school play is, chances are, there will only be two of three performances of it. At night. When you’d be home from work anyway.  Livelihood and sanity saved.

4. There’s no such thing as a Travel Show. Travel Teams are the bane of even the most enthusiastic sports-mom’s life. No one, no matter how genuinely thrilled to watch their child’s every pass and play, relishes driving three hours — each way — to do so. School plays are performed…get this — at school!  And chances are, that’s right nearby.

5. Injuries are Kept to a Minimum.  The expression “break a leg” aside, there’s very little chance of show-related injuries.  Sure, the occasional dancer twists an ankle, but climbing up the ladder in your High School production of Our Town is unlikely to result in a visit to the emergency room. Of course there is the possibility of an untalented off-spring straining your ability to enthuse over his off-key rendition of The Impossible Dream, but that’s your problem.

6. Your Kid will learn Applicable Life Skills. I know all about sports giving kids confidence, and teaching them about teamwork.  Drama Club does that, too. I mean, have you ever seen a one woman production of Twelve Angry Men? But what drama club teaches that sports do not, is the art of pretending.  Hate your boss? Your drama club experience will allow you to act like you don’t think said boss is a useless waste of corporate space. You may even have learned enough to be convincingly enthusiastic about working for him or her.  This will get you a promotion, or even get you your boss’s job. If you were a child athlete, however, you may end up kicking him, or fouling him, or whatever other sports terms there are for un-sportsmanlike conduct. You’ll be fired and unemployable – the overly physical disgruntled employee. Sorry.

7. Less laundry. Let’s do some math, shall we?  Let’s say your child plays little league baseball from age 7-10.  One game a week, for an 8 week season, at one post game ice cream per week equals 32 loads of laundry.  Then, once they get older, they’re playing soccer in the fall, basketball in the winter and baseball in the spring, for 96 more loads of laundry. If they play on a travel team, add other 50 loads during the same period.  That’s 178 loads of laundry.

Not so in the drama club, kids just wear the same sweaty costume some kid wore last time they did that play.

8.  You can’t lose the school play – Just this week, my son’s 5th/6th grade soccer team lost 14-nothing to the opposing team. Even if the play stinks, there will be no comparable concrete evidence of that for the drama kid, just applause.

There are some pitfalls – Drama Moms can become Stage Moms, a terrifying prospect for anyone who has ever seen an episode of Toddlers and Tiaras or a dinner theater interpretation of  that  cautionary musical for Drama Mama’s everywhere, Gypsy.  They may be deluded as to the extent of their child’s talent and force family members to listen to a rendition of Corner of the Sky every time an elderly relative hits a milestone. (Soccer Moms don’t force their kids to “kick for grandma!”)

But still, give me the no early practice, indoor, injury free life of a Drama Mom! Please?

Did they think we were fascists?

Did they think they had just packed up Mussolini’s kitchen?

Nope.

They Meant Miscellaneous.
Best misspelling ever

But it did get me thinking.  There are a lot of times I feel I’m just not being given 100%.  And I’m gonna sue:

1. My Children – for only listening 50% of the time (and I’m being generous here)  For only picking up after themselves 20% of the time.  For making me feel like I must have done something wrong to deserve…whatever it is they’re dishing out, just about 100% of the time they’re dishing…whatever it is they’re dishing. (Whew!)

2. My Body – for taking 25% longer to recover from a night out with the girls.  For gaining 2 of% my body weight every year since I turned 40.

3. The Weather – for snowing 80% more than I’d like it to this winter. For being 87% too humid for my frizz-ball of a head in the summer, and for making Fall and Spring – the most tolerable of seasons – last only 20% of the year.

4. Congresswoman Michelle Bachmann for only looking into the camera 5% of the time during her “official” Tea Party response to Barack Obama’s State of the Union address.  Also – for only telling 10% of the truth about how much responsibility the Republican party has for the current financial crisis.  And for wearing 30% too much make-up.

5. The Cast of Jersey Shore – For being on 100% too many magazine covers, for being 100% more famous than they deserve to be.  For drinking 110%  too much.  For taking up even .1% of my consciousness.

6. The word “Like” as in “he was like…and then I was like” for being used by 90% of the intelligent, educated people I know (including me), when it’s not even .001% grammatically correct.

7. Bagels – for having 60% more calories than I thought they did, and for being the ruin of the diets of perhaps 88% of the Jewish women in New York City currently trying to lose ten pounds.

8. Fashion Magazines – for writing tons of articles about how horrible eating disorders are, about how you can be beautiful at any size, and then using models who are painfully skinny 100% of the time.

9. Justin Beiber. No percentages here.  He just bugs me.

10. People (especially men) who say “hmmmm” a lot when you’re talking. Because Hmm is really only man-speak for “I am not listening to anything you say. Damn, the Lakers lost again!”

11. Acronyms – because – FYI -about 80% of the time,  it takes longer to decipher the GD things than it would to just write them down in the first place. IMHO. (LOL)

12. The phrase LOL – see Justin Beiber, above.

I figure most of these lawsuits are a slam dunk. Though I might have to sue myself under the “people who use cliches in their writing” category for putting that way.

What’s that?  You don’t like my list?  So sue me.

And who must hate me.

The weekend was great.  We hiked along the Hudson River, we pet her neighbor’s goats.  We watched as one of the nine remaining  Araucana hens her landlord keeps laid an egg. (Coyotes had gotten to nearly 40 chickens this fall, leaving only the nine survivors, fighters all. ) The kids bounced on the trampoline in the backyard with their cousins.  We went to a farm stand, had pie.  At night, the only sound was the waterfall outside my window, and the wind, rustling through what was left of the leaves.

City girl that I am, I found myself thinking that my sister was right to leave the hustle, bustle, stench and crowds of the city. Who needs to worry about what you wear to walk the dog? Or whether or not your neighbor can hear you screech at your children to turn off the computer?  Who wants to worry about bedbugs and botox when you can worry about ticks and Timberland jackets? All I need, I thought, is a lovely old farmhouse with a fire burning in the living room, a pie baking in the oven, and an omelet only an arms reach away in the neighboring barn.  Maybe, I thought, it’s time for me to pull a Green Acres and head out to the farm, where life is simple, where skies are blue, where no one urinates on your stoop.

And then my dog killed a chicken.

Imagine, if you will, the perfect Arcadian wonderland: trees laden with red and gold leaves, a waterfall flowing noisily into a bubbling river, and a few regal hens, pecking around the compost heap which no doubt will yield mulch for an organic farm where they will use it to grow heirloom vegetables. Which they will feed  to inner city youth deprived of decent produce in their overpriced supermarkets. Who will then not turn to drugs, but instead to rutabagas, and all will be right with the world.

Then imagine pure inbred animal rage, the instinctive attack.  The shocked screech of fear.  A battle of the beasts.  My fifteen pound Yorkie mix against….a chicken.

I had opened the front door to start loading up the car when suddenly, in a streak of straggly fur, Bentley tore out of the house and went straight for the chickens. I am used to the sound of sirens.  I am used to the sound of screaming drunks coming home from a night on the town.  I am used to the screech of subway cars as they pull into the station, the rants of crazy preachers on subway cars, the banging of NYC Sanitation workers at 7:15 on the only morning of the week that my children have slept past 7am in months.

I am not used to the sound of a chicken fighting for its life.

I ran to the flurry of fur and feathers.  I screamed at my dog to stop, to stay, to sit, to down, to do anything other than what he was doing. Every time I reached for him he’d slip out of my none-too-coordinated hands (writing yes. hand-eye — not so much)  And all the while the chicken squawked a terrified squawk, until at last, panting, I pulled what I had always thought of as my sweet little puppy off the battered chicken, who lay on the ground like Lyndsey Lohan after a rough night out.

Bad enough that my fifteen pound dog – the kind of dog who wears a yellow rain slicker on bad weather days –  had managed to kill a chicken that had survived multiple attacks by vicious, wild coyotes,  worse, he had not really killed the chicken, only left it half dead, moaning, unable to move. (see Lyndsey Lohan, above)

Someone was going to have to put the chicken out of her misery.

I went inside to talk to my sister.

“Bentley attacked a chicken.  But it’s not dead. We have to kill it.  We can’t just leave it like that.  It’s in pain.”

“How do you kill a chicken?” we all wondered. Cooking a chicken I can do.  Killing a chicken?  Not my forte.

We all walked outside to the scene of the crime. It occurred to me that I hadn’t just lost a chicken, I’d lost a dozen free farm fresh eggs!   I mean, when your dog kills the neighbor’s chicken, you can’t exactly take that chicken’s eggs.  Great.  I’d have to kill a chicken, and give back the eggs.  Life in the country didn’t seem so Arcadian any more.

But when we got there, the chicken was gone. I don’t know anything about chickens….do they go off somewhere to die?  Do they stagger their way to a favorite nesting place as a final resting place?  Or had a coyote already gotten to the fresh-killed bird?   The dog now safely locked in the car, we scurried up the hill to the chicken coop to see if we would find it there.

And there she was.  Still making disapproving clucks, but pecking around the barn like all the other chickens. She was clearly pissed off; if I understood chicken I probably would have heard things like “So I escaped those hormone shots for this?”  or “Hey city girl, here’s a tidbit: terriers kill birds. Newflash!” Or simply “Get a leash!”

I saw no blood, no visibly ruffled feathers.  And  I couldn’t get back to the city fast enough. Because I figured, my dog was trying to tell me something.  In NY, we already have it all: a fire burning somewhere at all times (I hear the sirens), a pie baking in someone else’s  commercial oven so I can buy a pie, and not have to clean up after baking one myself , and an omelet, only an arms reach away.

Hey, the chicken was alive, wasn’t it? Why shouldn’t I have taken the eggs?

After a dinner of omelets and toast,  I went to bed, lulled to sleep by the sound of sirens, honking horns, and drunken sports fans. And as I dozed off I thought – in this dog-eat-chicken world, it’s nice to know there are still some good eggs around.

Claim: ZTR5A4THKWDK

Yes, it’s true.  What it took nine months and two actual human being growing inside of my body to accomplish, I’ve managed to do all my own!!!

Yay me.

In case you, too, would like to achieve this milestone, here’s how I did it:

1. The Internet -I spend five to six hours a day sitting on my butt staring at the computer screen writing for this blog, or for TravelingMom.com.  Or podcasting or posting for Blogging Angels. Or working on the business plan for my soon-to-be-announced new venture.

Which all means that my butt is completely mushy, but my fingers are in remarkably good shape – -what with all the typing.

2. Orlando - Now I’m not complaining, but I just went on a three night all expense paid trip to the super luxurious Waldorf Astoria in Orlando. (yes, you read that right, Orlando, Florida has a Waldorf.  And yes, it really is super luxurious, not tacky luxurious.)  The trip was basically eating punctuated by events that involved little to no physical exertion: massages, shopping, lounging by the pool. (you can read all about it here.)

So – and I repeat – I AM NOT COMPLAINING – But (you knew there was going to be a butt but.) all of that eating, and OK, drinking, my two trips to the empty and well-equipped Waldorf Astoria gym notwithstanding, did not do a lot for my bottom line.  Well, it did a lot.  Just the wrong a lot.  If you know what I mean.

3. Trader Joe’s.  Trader Joe”s:  I love you.  I love your prices.  I love your vibe.  I love your funny little signs.  Sadly, I also love all of your nut-filled (i.e. fat filled) trail mixes.  Damn you, NY Landmark Preservation Society.  Had you acted faster, Trader Joe’s would not be tempting me with it’s delicious snacks!

4. My Kids’ Laptops – Before my kids were required to bring their laptops back and forth from school, I walked them to school, then walked home, then walked back to school to get them, then walked home again.  For a grand total of  5.5 miles.

Now, they have laptops.  And even with the wheely bags, it’s too hard to schlepp across the park. So now the kids take the school bus, I walk the dog for 30 minutes, and then it’s back to the computer – aka sitting on my ass.

5. Me.  I am not above taking responsibility for my own actions.  I eat too much.  I don’t exercise enough.  So sue me. Please. Because a law suit, that might cost me so much money I wouldn’t have anything left for food, and I would LOSE weight.

So what am I gonna do about it?

1. Zumba Fitness® Classes -A few weeks ago, I went to an event for the Zumba Fitness® videogame for Wii, Playstation Moe, Playstation® 3 and Xbox Kinect.  I tried it.  It was hard.  It was fun.  It was really really good exercise.  And since – with the new game – I can do Zumba Fitness® in my living room, I will no longer have the excuse of not being able to get to the gym.  See the new Zumba Fitness® game (and yes, they told me I have to keep on using that little copyright symbol EVERY SINGLE TIME I SAY ZUMBA, I mean Zumba.®) lets you pick the length of your routine, the difficulty level, the music – even the setting.  And you get to dance around like a lunatic without anyone getting to see your jiggly bits.(like Niecy Nash says)

Check it out:

I like this idea.

When the Zumba Fitness® Game finally comes out,On November 18th, I will buy it — yes, with my very own money.  And I will do it.  Not only to lose weight, but because it was fun.  Yes – I have called a form of exercise fun.  Call the papers.  Or the FBI – someone has kidnapped my exercise hating self.

Until Novmeber 18th, until, that is, the Zumba Fitness® Game is available,  it’s the gym for me.  And ballroom twice a week, and yoga.  Because there are no Zumba fitness® classes during the day in NYC, and daytime is my workout time. Just the way it is. Plus, by the time November 18th rolls around, I’ll have – well, less rolls around, and I won’t feel so awkward playing the game.

And how will I have lost the rolls?  By replacing one meal a day with a Healthy Choice Cafe Steamers frozen entree.

Full Disclosure:  I am going to use my Healthy Choice coupons for free frozen diet food that actually tastes…like food!  That actually has an ingredient list with a normal number of perfectly pronounceable ingredients. (I like the mushroom risotto) And that has – wait for it – NO PRESERVATIVES.

And because I am so nice, I’m going to give away a few of those coupons too.  Leave a comment below – telling me what caused you to need to eat Healthy Choice, and I will send two lucky winners two coupons each for a free Healthy Choice entree. (If you just leave a “I want to win” comment, you won’t be entered. )

So – wait – I’m going to eat right, and exercise?

Call the papers!

Contest open to US residents 18 and older. Contest ends Oct 22nd at 11pm eastern.  Two winners will be picked at random by random.org.